


redamancy

by HeartonFire



Series: take me back to places I feel loved in [1]
Category: Daredevil (TV), The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Letters, Love Confessions, Mutual Pining, Postcards, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-18
Updated: 2020-03-18
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:41:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23204875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HeartonFire/pseuds/HeartonFire
Summary: redamancy (n); the act of loving one who loves you, a love returned in full
Relationships: Frank Castle/Karen Page
Series: take me back to places I feel loved in [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1669303
Comments: 20
Kudos: 105





	redamancy

**Author's Note:**

> Prompted on [tumblr](https://heartonfirewrites.tumblr.com) by the always lovely [brookeellis](https://the-restless-brook.tumblr.com).

The first postcard arrived unexpectedly, slipped into her mailbox sometime while she wasn’t looking. It wasn’t unusual for her to leave her mailbox unopened for days at a time. Not like she was expecting anything beyond the occasional stray catalog, anyway.

But this was different.  _ Greetings from Missouri! _ was scrawled across a photo of the St. Louis Arch in garish, yellow letters.

Puzzled, Karen traced her fingertips over the worn edges of the postcard before turning it over. The sharp, spiky handwriting on the other side could only belong to one person.

_ I’m safe. I’m out.  _

_ Kid’s fine. Madani’s fine.  _

_ Take care. _

Ten words. After weeks of nothing, ten words were all she got. No greeting, no signature. He knew she’d know, and she did. That didn’t make it hurt any less.

It also didn’t stop her from sliding the postcard into the frame of the mirror in her bedroom and looking at it every morning. She wondered where he was now. She hoped he was happy. She was sure she’d never see him again.

She was nearly as sure she’d never hear from him again.

She hoped she would.

* * *

The next postcard came a few weeks later, on a particularly cold day. The gray sky and threat of snow hung over the city, weighing everything down, making everything feel heavy. Karen hated to admit it, but she had checked her mailbox every day since the last one arrived, holding onto the hope that maybe, just maybe, Frank cared about her the same way she cared about him.

She knew he cared, of course. He had taken more than one bullet for her, killed men to protect her, told her, in his way, how much he cared. She could still almost feel his lips grazing against her cheek, breath warm in the cold air. She could still see the look in his eyes when he told her he had to walk away in the hospital. All their almosts added up to an almost certainty that he cared.

But it was nice to be reminded.

When she saw the orange cursive splashed across a picture of Mount Rushmore, her heart leapt in her chest.

_ It’s beautiful here. Haven’t been outside so much in a long time. The sky is so much bigger here than in the city. Sounds crazy, but it’s true. _

_ I’m sorry. Wish I was better at this. _

_ Take care. _

This was different than the last one. She could almost hear his voice, low and gravelly, telling her about the stars, the landscape, all that fresh air. She almost wished she was there with him, staring up at that big sky, away from all the chaos and bustle in the city, but by the time the card arrived, she was sure he’d already left wherever he was when he sent it. He was always careful like that.

She read it a few more times, before sliding it into the frame of her mirror just above the last one. She almost wished she could write him back, but of course, she didn’t have his address. As far as she knew, he didn’t have an address right now, as he traveled around the country, stopping wherever he wanted, exploring all the places he’d never gone.

Seeing the two cards there wasn’t the same as having him back, having him here, but it was something.

Karen would take what she could get.

* * *

The next message wasn’t a postcard. When she opened her mailbox, Karen found an envelope, scrawled with that same spiky handwriting she was coming to know so well, but there was still no return address. She didn’t expect one.

Her hands shook as she opened it, unfolding the paper to reveal his message. He still didn’t sign it, but it wasn’t like it mattered. There was no one else it could be from.

_ Never seen the Pacific Ocean before. Think I like the Atlantic better, anyway. Too many beach bums out here in California. Too much sun. _

_ I never liked the beach, really. Sand always ends up in the car forever, and in the cracks in the floor. Maybe I’ll head to the mountains, really get out in nature, become a lumberjack or something. _

_ Or maybe I’ll come back to the city. I miss the noise. I thought I hated the city, after everything that happened, but I think I need to come back. It’s where I belong. _

_ I saw your article on the VA last week. Nice to see you’re still stirring shit up, even when I’m not there. _

_ Take care. _

This wasn’t a message she could put on her mirror. This was a message she wanted to savor, read again and again until the words were carved into her ribs by the racing of her heart.

He hadn’t said he was coming back, but he had definitely mentioned it for a reason. She smiled sadly, half-wishing he would just disappear into the mountains and make a life for himself. If she were really selfless, if she were really good, that’s what she would want for him, and some part of her did.

But the bigger part of her wanted him here, wanted him near her. She had always been selfish that way.

The very idea of him coming back, being here, was almost too much for her to consider. That first postcard should have been the closure she needed. He had been out, he had been safe. 

He wasn’t coming back for her. He was from New York, it was his home. However much she cared about him, however hard she loved him, this wasn’t about her. It never had been.

It couldn’t be.

* * *

There were no more letters. Karen checked every day for three weeks before she gave up hope. Maybe he really had left everything behind, made a new life for himself somewhere in the wide open space where no one knew him. 

But then, a pot of white roses appeared on her windowsill. She almost didn’t notice. It had been a long day, tracking down sources and begging Ellison to let her take on a mob case she knew she could handle. As she was falling into bed, she spotted them, just a shadow behind the glass.

Her heart thudded hard in her chest as she pushed the window open and tugged the pot inside. The light fragrance of the flowers, carried on the chilly breeze from outside, sent a wave of emotions crashing over Karen. Nostalgia, pain, grief, longing, all tangled up in one small pot of flowers. 

She set it on her dresser, just beside the postcards she still kept there, and took a step back, staring at the flowers, like they could give her the answers she wanted.

He had been here. He had left these for her. He hadn’t stayed.

A small card stuck out from between the leaves of the roses. Reaching for it, she pricked her finger on a thorn and drew back with a hiss, before trying again. It was only fitting, really, that the hope she still had for Frank, for herself, for them together, in whatever way they could manage, would cause her pain. That hope was the thing still hurting her about the way they had left things, not Frank.

There was nothing on the card but a phone number. 

Karen typed it into her phone, finger hesitating over pressing the call button. If she did this, she needed to really do this. She needed him to know. They needed to talk this out, once and for all. All this back and forth, all this waiting and hoping and dreaming, it all had to stop. They needed to face reality and deal with it, whatever came. 

As the phone rang, she honestly wondered if he would pick up. She had never had a direct way to contact him before. Everything felt slightly off-kilter, like she might slide off into the void with one wrong step.

“Karen?”

She closed her eyes, hand coming up to cover her mouth. Just that sound, just hearing his voice, was enough to make every ounce of strength she thought she had built up in his absence, come crumbling down to nothing.

“Karen? Are you okay?” That edge of fear, that note of concern, it made her tremble.

“I’m fine, Frank,” she said, forcing her voice not to shake. “So, you’re back?”

“I’m back.” He huffed out a chuckle, wry with something she couldn’t place. “Think you might want to see me?” He sounded so unsure, so unsteady, it almost made Karen feel better.

“Of course, I want to see you. When?”

“You free now?”

She was exhausted, she was a mess, she was in no way ready for this, but none of that mattered. 

“Sure.”

“I’ll be right over.”

Wherever he was, he hadn’t been far. The tap on her window came only minutes later, but Karen still jumped at the sound. She hadn’t even changed out of her work clothes, hadn’t tidied up at all. It didn’t matter. They needed to do this, now.

“You could have used the door. You know that, right?” Karen said, as Frank clambered through the window, pushing his hood off his head.

“Old habits,” he said, a flash of a smile lighting his face. He had trimmed his beard, but his hair was a little longer, curling at the ends. Her eyes traced over his skin, almost surprised not to see any bruises. 

“You look good,” she said, and his smile widened a little.

“Yeah?” He ran a hand over the back of his neck. “So do you.”

Karen scoffed, looking down at her wrinkled skirt and stockinged feet. She knew her hair was a mess, her makeup had mostly worn off, and she had to look tired. She felt tired.

“How’ve you been?” Frank asked quietly, leaning closer to catch her eye.

“Fine, Frank. I’ve been fine.” It wasn’t entirely true, but compared to recent years, with Fisk and Matt and Fisk again, she was doing great.

“Good. That’s good.”   
“Do you want a drink or something?”

“Sure.” He shifted his weight and Karen turned to head for the kitchen. She heard him shuffling behind her, boots heavy on the wood floor, and she steeled herself. They couldn’t tiptoe around this anymore. They had to get it out in the open, whatever it ended up being.

Passing him a beer, her fingers grazed his, and the spark she felt was the last straw.

“Why did you write to me?”

“You got my letters?”

“Yes. I did. Why did you write them?”

He blinked at her, like he didn’t understand the question. “What do you mean?”

“You were gone. You were out. Why did you write to me? Why did you come back?” She didn’t mean for all the fear and grief she had grappled with to spill out as rage, but she couldn’t control it anymore.

Frank frowned, lines creasing his face as he looked down at his boots. “I had to.”

“Why?”

“What do you mean, why?” he said, voice rising a little to match hers. “I had to write to you, I had to come back to you. I couldn’t stay gone. I just couldn’t do it.”

“I don’t understand, Frank.” Karen sank back against the counter, clutching her beer like it could somehow save her, curling away from him as she showed him her weakest spot. “I told you. I told you how I felt. You walked away.”

The lines on his face deepened, and he took a cautious step towards her, like he was afraid she might hit him if he moved too fast. She wasn’t entirely sure she wouldn’t. She felt outside her own body, out of control in a way she hadn't felt in a long time.

“I know. I know I did. I was trying to protect you.”

She scoffed. “I can take care of myself.”

“I know that. You’re tough, you’re strong, and god help anyone who gets in your way. I know, Karen. But I couldn’t risk you. Not then, not with everything that was going on.”

“So, why now?”

“I couldn’t stay away.” He took another step towards her, then another. “I missed you so much it hurt. By the time I got to California, I just looked at the ocean and I knew where I wanted to be.”

Karen’s heart was racing, thudding against her ribcage like it was trying to leap out of her chest and jump into Frank’s hands. He held it already. He had to know that.

“I know I screwed up. I know I owe you a thousand apologies. I’ll do whatever you want. I’ll go, if you ask me. I just had to come back. I had to see you.”

She set her bottle on the counter and moved closer to him. He looked wary, but his eyes never left hers. She stood in front of him, almost close enough to touch.

“I need you to tell me, Frank.”

He sighed. He didn’t ask what she meant. “I love you, Karen. I don’t know when it started, but it’s the truth. I love you, and I had to come back for you.”

A smile broke over her face and Frank’s hands came up to cradle her neck. Her eyes closed, and she held her breath, but he didn’t move. When she opened her eyes, he was staring at her, with those unfathomable dark eyes, like he almost didn’t believe this was really happening. She didn't quite believe it either, but it didn't matter. 

Leaning forward, she finally did what she had been thinking about, imagining, dreaming of since long before that first postcard arrived. She kissed Frank Castle, and he kissed her right back.

**Author's Note:**

> I took this is a slightly different direction than I originally planned, but I hope you liked it anyway! If you enjoyed this, kudos and comments are extremely appreciated, and you can always feel free to send prompts my way! <3


End file.
